Pain
by xxtwistedstormxx
Summary: When Thor returns to Midgard with his poisoned brother in tow, hoping the Avengers can help in guarding the criminal from an unknown enemy, the team reluctantly agree and are thrown into one of Loki's tricks... Their just not exactly sure if its really a trick...
1. Pain & Knives

**Pain:**

_/pān/ noun_

Physical suffering or discomfort caused by illness or injury.

_Synonyms_: suffering, agony, torture, torment, discomfort

* * *

He tried to wake up,desperately tried to force his eyes open, force them open to face the white ceiling of his cell.

Ｏｒ ｗａｓ ｉｔ ｇｒｅｙ？ Ｉｔ ｗａｓｎ'ｔ ａ ｃｅｌｌ… Ｎｏ…

The memories were too far away for him to grasp.

There was a voice, soft like velvet, yet sharp, reminding him of one of his knives.

_K̪̰̟n̘̞̫̹̠̲i͎̮͉̻̬̯ͅv̪̥̘̣̫es͓̝̠͍̘̖_. A shudder ran through his body, or at least that's what he thought. His mind and soul seemed to have wandered off. Though, he was still aware of the shocks of agony that crawled through his body, aware that he was screaming, aware of the blood and sweat that dripped down his face.

_ Knives dragging along his _ǹ̷͞ec̡̧͟k͟҉.̀͘͝..._ʎəɹƃ, grey, grey, ʎ̪̞̬͇̻̹̫ə̝ɹƃ̠̗͔._

_ Ｗｈｅｒｅ__ｗａｓ__ｔｈｅ__ｗｈｉｔｅ？__Ｗｈｅｒｅ__ｗａｓ__ｔｈｅ－_

_** P̸̛̬̣̩͙̰͔̹̄ͩͨͣ̈̌ͫ͐̍ͩ̀Å̵̡̨̤̠͉͈̙̦̥̰̜͖̠̻̻̜̣̀̄͋̾̒̌͋ͭ̍ͮ́ͥ́̀͡I̴̛͖͙̲̘̯̳͙̬͚͚̻͕̘̘̽̍̇ͥ͊͘͠N̡̽͗̈́̂ͪ̽̀ͤͦ͊̔͏̨̖̻̪͓̮͇̭͇͎̱́͘**_

He couldn't breathe. Short gasps were all he could manage, back arched as unfamiliar hands moved behind his neck, and lifted his withering form. Hard hands, ones that were calloused like a black smith. Then soft hands. They were gold.

_ A tree, his mother singing, her voice so beautiful, his mother, turning to him, perfect skin turning icy blue, pale eyes flashing bloody red as she told him she wasn't his real mother. But she was. She __**had **__to be._

_** FROSTGIANTMONSTERMONSTERMONSTERFROSTJOTUNARUNT**_

He was sobbing. Why was he sobbing? Someone… The cell… The pain had traveled to his head. Memories were again slipping from his grasp, just like the raggedy breaths that crumpled out from his lips. He needed Thor; he needed that stupid oaf to-…

Stupid oaf? Brother… No, not brother, just an undeserving blonde prince that threw him into this cell. _N̛̯̰͓̬̹ͤ̈́e͈̳̜͍͛̑̎̇̐w͎̭̮̙͎̋ͥ̑̽͑ ̧ͪͧ̀̈Y̞̦͕͕̮̦͈ͪ͋̒̈o͇ͥͨ̄̾̿́͊ṟ̥̺̿k̴̝̰̭̯̹̤̞̄͌__, ʞɹoʎ ʍəu, new york. __Midgard__._ Thor, mighty Thor, the golden child, the lie. He was the lie-or… No, not his brother-…

_ His brother! Standing before him, red cape dripping with blood. They were fighting, in New York, because… He couldn't remember why… Why were they fighting? Thor was his brother… His brother… The cape slowly turned pitch black, the fabric curling into bloody wings of crows as Thor fell to his knees, electric blue eyes dripping with blood. More blood. His fault. _

_** B̡́͢l͠ơod̨́bloodbloodbloodpoolqhisfaultC̨̫̦͈̼̫̫͞h̘̰͖̞̣i̳̼ͅt̶҉̝̼̺̟̜͎̲̯a̤̤͕͟͟u̴͇͍͜͠ŕ̴̷̗͈i̵̪̯**_

Claws were dragging inside his head, knives digging and shuffling through his brain. More voices tickled his ears. The pain was unbearable. A light, a bright light, the hands, more knives.

And then darkness.


	2. Bloody Water

The late summer sky was the color of bloody water.

Of course, Loki thought, you would certainly have to add the perfect amount of blood. Lost scudding clouds bore a deep crimson red, rippling and curling through the high-altitude wind. Gaps of light blue night peered through clouds and resembled an upside-down ocean, bottomless, cold, and ready to swallow him up.

Mortals would have described it as absolutely beautiful. But nothing was beautiful about this place. Returning to a realm like this, Midgard of all places did indeed 'suck'.

Loki Odinso- Ehem, Loki Laufeyson was waiting for death.

He could see New York City from where he laid, all of it. Towers were lit up and snakes of burning lights flickered pathways throughout the city. An airplane soared through the already darkening red sky, their passengers surely resting inside, watching in the distance as safety fireworks were shot. Laughter, music and the hum of cars skipped across the land like rocks being thrown with just the right spin, edges as sharp as Loki's hearing.

Outside of the booming city was darkness. So quiet, he liked quiet.

Loki's dull eyes pulled back to the sky. It had started to turn as black as coal, making him feel worse.

He was almost unaware of the linger pain still clouding his head and neck.

Why worry about such things? He'd ask himself, lips parting with ease, smiling with a skeleton like smile at the sky. He sometimes wished someone would smile back. It was easy to imagine his mother, looking down on him and stifling a kind laugh and just… _Smiling._

He could hear someone shuffling close by, groaning and sounding incoherent.

A looming shadowed face suddenly formed above him and blocked his view of the sky. They weren't smiling. Now that Loki thought about it, his vision was quite fuzzy and doubled, only able to make out a mouth that franticly opened and closed. The figure was talking. Gold strands of their halo tumbled from behind their ears. Oh, Loki would realize, hair, not a halo.

Large hands were then cradling his head. He wanted nothing more but to shove them away and stop them from lifting him. But, he could not.

He couldn't talk. His throat was dry and _hurt; _feeling like dry ice had crawled around in his mouth, stilling his tongue.

He didn't care though.

He didn't care about anything. He kept grinning, unaware of how his body trembled, a sheet of sweat sprinkled over his skin.

"Loki," the voice would say.

Loki thought it sounded sad, but he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of much right now. Only that the sky was like bloody water and more fireworks had exploded into it, rays of yellows and blues mixing together like flying birds.

His mind floated free of his body, drifting in and out of disjointed versions of this dream.

No, he'd remind himself, a nightmare.

That's right, what kind of silly dream would have knifes and pain?

Loki heard sharp laughing that sounded like a rock dragging against a chalk board. It was his laughter. His throat burned with new found pain and the thick fog settled over him faded away for only a moment.

Trembling limbs felt like they were filled with liquid lead. But he didn't need them anyway. The figure with golden hair had picked him up.

"Loki," the voice would say again.

Loki's head had lolled as he watched the sky, half lidded eyes watching the blood be swallowed up by rumbles of thunder and lighting. The black clouds ate everything. Funny, he thought the blue would do that.

Midgard was annoying.

Always unpredictable, he didn't like that.

A shroud of gray was descending on him from the distance as the world grew too dark. He couldn't hear his laughing anymore, just his labored breaths, unsteady heartbeat, and words from the figure that tumbled at him through the void, carried by a booming voice. A booming yet very familiar voice.

A bony hand rose and moved through the air like a paint brush. The skin was deathly pale, stretched to tightly over the bones and stained in red.

Loki didn't remember touching the sky.

He was fascinated by the color, the blood that dripped and weaved itself between his fingers. It kept his mind off of the annoying voice.

A crackle of thunder rattled against fireworks as the hand limply fell. Why wouldn't the figure put him down?

"Loki," it'd try.

No answer. Loki simply watched the sky, wishing it returned to its bloody water color.

* * *

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	3. Semiformal

Finding something to wear had never been this hard.

The invitation to the party said semiformal,but the _semi _part was tricky. It opened up too many possibilities for the night. The boys had it easy. All white, shirtsleeves, a jacket and collar, no tie, long coats, or really nice sweaters. For her though, along with other women that were attending the party, the definition of _semi _exploded with different possibilities and options. It always did for New York parties. Especially ones that were made for the Avengers.

Natasha preferred _formal, _black tie or white tie, even if the clothes were less comfortable and it took quite some time for everyone to get drunk, at least getting dressed wasn't hard.

Her eyes drifted over her open closet, tongue clucking against the roof of her mouth as she quietly muttered in Russian.

"Semiformal, _semi_formal."

**Do you require assistance, agent Romanoff? **The room asked.

Natasha eased herself to the corner of her bed and glanced at the ceiling for only a moment. It was stupid, getting all worked up over a simple word. "Is _semi _even a word?" The agent asked herself, a dainty hand rubbing her face as the room seemed to spin.

**If you add formal it will. **The AI must have thought it was clever.

Last night, she and the Avengers had gotten the invitation. Truthfully, Natasha would have rather been in the workout room then going to some fancy party tonight, one where people would dart around her like nervous water bugs. She sighed and looked at the half closed window of her room that overlooked all of New York, thanks to Tony who had given her the room with one of the best views. The fireworks exploding behind the window made it glow like some kind of schizoid stained glass that would flicker to new colors every second.

"Hey."

"Clint," Natasha sat up as he cracked the door open.

The male agent smirked, his eyes shimmering a metallic blue, reflecting the fireworks like tiny mirrors, and something behind them made her feel safe. Not like she'd need _any _help being protected. The Black Widow could easily take care of herself.

"You seem stressed, and tired."

Natasha looked at her open closet. Clothes of different fabrics and colors were sprawled everywhere that made her want to twitch. It was a habit; she liked to have everything in place.

"I'm fine."

"What are you doing?"

"Getting ready for that stupid party."

Clint cocked his head. "Wait, what? Didn't Tony tell you?"

"…Tell me what?"

"The party, it was cancelled," Clint recoiled back at her narrowed eyes. His lips pursed themselves together as if he was holding back that all familiar smirk. "Oh, he _didn't _tell you. The guy is probably busy with Bruce in the lab."

Natasha was already kicking her clothes back into the closet. Quiet curses of Russian filled the air. The _nerve _of Tony Stark. Could he have not just walked to her room and politely inform her about the cancelled party? Or at least have Jarvis tell her?! How hard could that be?! The booming sounds of fireworks were almost as loud as the ringing in her ears. Almost as loud as the thunder. _Huh, thunder… _She looked over at the window, Clint following suit. Sure enough, a bright white line of lighting was struck behind the fireworks. Another streak appeared, this one more crooked and jagged like half of a man's tooth.

**Mr. Odinson has arrived.**

"What a coincidence! I think Steve just bought some poptarts," Clint's voiced floated out of the room.

Usually Thor would go see Jane Foster first when arriving in Midgard. She hadn't had a full conversation with the scientist yet. From what she knew, Jane was a petite, smart and pretty woman. Though, Natasha couldn't really see the two as a couple. They probably balanced each other out. Jane didn't seem like the kind of girl who liked a parade when arriving somewhere. Or the kind of person with a voice as loud as thunder. But, as they say, positives attract negatives. Exiting her room, the agent couldn't help but inwardly smile at the saying. It was true. How else could the Avengers come together? How else could they be a team? All so different, yet connecting and being able to live in the same house.

…Barely being able to live in the same house.

Thor had broken more microwaves than she could count, Tony had triggered Bruce into letting out the 'other guy', and a few weeks ago Steve and Clint were sparring, leading to the archer having to deal with a broken arm. Natasha would never be able to forget the way Captain America followed Clint around, asking if he needed anything, following any command and always having the forlorn puppy dog guilt look.

**Mr. Odinson has a guest.**

She frowned, opening her mouth to ask Jarvis who, but rounded the corner and bumped into Clint's stiff form. Ready to push the clumsy agent, she stopped herself, eyes widening at who stood in the living room. It took a lot to break and crack her stone cold expression. She was always prepared for the worst, the best, and the surprising. But, this time, Natasha wasn't at all prepared.

Vibrant colors of fireworks reflected of the glass door, dancing along two figures in the center of the room, making them look like a TV screen. It was Thor, tall, baring his usually dark red cape that swept to the floor. His blond hair looked slightly longer and small braids tumbled out from behind his ears. His blue eyes were rimmed with red as if he had gotten no sleep and deeply set, eyelashes brushing against his skin. Natasha was used to seeing the Norse God happy. Even in battle, he was like Steve, hopeful and joyful, especially when pop tarts were present. But now he was hardly recognizable. Those hundreds of years he had been alive seemed to have caught up with him. The wrinkles around his cheeks from smiling were dark and his forehead was crinkling in concern.

Next to him was _Loki. _Loki, the God who had stormed into their planet with an army.

She remembered Loki as the tall stone statue. Golden plates of armor were planted along his body with green fabric in the gaps where his joints moved. A golden helmet with extravagant horns that curled at the ends, sharp enough to pierce through skin. She remembered that smile. The smile that would stretch all the way across his mouth, showing off perfect white teeth. His bony long piano hands that'd curl around a scepter. Natasha had nightmares about him stabbing that scepter through her chest, letting her scarlet red blood fall to the floor, along with her ledger that exploded, painting streets with its ink. God knows what type of nightmares Clint had about this man- No, this _monster. _

Except, this was an entirely different Loki than she remembered, not a God. This Loki had one arm draped across Thor as his feet were tangled in a heap, legs so thin they might have snapped holding his quivering frame up. He was skinnier, much skinnier. His ribs thrusted from his sides while his pelvic bones and elbows looked as sharp as needles. The Tricksters head was lolled against Thor's shoulder, and under his cropped black hair that stuck to his face from a shining sheet of sweat, she could make out the deathly pale hue of his face. It was as white as paper, maybe as white as the lighting that struck outside. Arrow heads looked to have been under his skin and made his cheeks bones look pointy enough to cut through glass. Dry, cracked, and pale lips hung open, his old 'perfect' white teeth now stained in red velvet blood, like his tongue. His collar bone sharply protruded from his chest and thin yet deep knives marks were littered across his neck. Mixing in with the sweat was blood. The Black Widow couldn't tell if it was from the wounds on his neck or someone else's blood, she just knew there was a lot.

"Friends," Thor's voice shook as much as Loki's unconscious body, "I need help."


End file.
